Belfast

The road from Dublin to Belfast, runs fast and smooth, (EU funding) but on the comfortable bus asleep I missed as we slipped from Eire to Northern Ireland, however, the slight change in house styles, the signs to Newry, the English flag flying, the lack of dual language information,   made it clear I had crossed the border and arriving in Belfast I could have just turned up in some northern  English city.  Whilst Ireland felt like a different place, Belfast felt like parts of England, despite the odd IRA sign or signs that would be considered extremist nationalist.    Having only ever seen what looked like rather ugly streets  on TV during the troubles;  the bucolic countryside, with its  happy cows munching on masses of wild flowers, that comes right up to the edge of town, and the sun immediately shifted perceptions, but as I stepped down from the bus, thoughts emerged.   What is this place with its fragile peace, its strong and stern relationship with a parliament in London, with an English population like me only aware of media stereotypes and what is its relationship to the country down south.  All my Irish friends from north and south are lovely, regardless of the different cultures and histories of the two places and they share much culturally.  Down south there are numerous reminders to English visitors that Britain and Ireland share a brutal history of oppression, from which Ireland has emerged despite the terrible Colonial treatment the British handed out, but in Northern Ireland where large numbers of people have dual citizenship but equally large numbers of people are committed to staying in the UK, how was I to make sense of this place.

Being taken around the town, which reminded me a bit of Manchester with its red brick back to backs, I was shown the most bombed hotel in Europe,  the hen parties out on the razzle, the modern buildings that have replaced other bombed out, and examples of Victoriana and a memorial to the Titanic.  On first sight, it didn't strike me as a place I would want to call home.   Yet, it also felt like home. The pub we went to with a cage outside where people would have been searched was jolly and lively and colourful inside and served great cider, definitely a plus and culturally a bit different to what I am used to, but the meal at Pizza Express well I could have been anywhere.  But by the end of Sunday having taken in more of the culture of the town at the excellent Ulster museum and seen how lovely some of north Belfast is, only a few minutes walk away, I could see that there was more to the place than I had appreciated on first sight and this was confirmed on my last day by the visit to the sea side and a fabuous over the top in English style pub where I had the best soup ever.    Belfast is just over an hour away from Stansted..  It almost took longer to get from the airplane to the airport as no one came to provide steps, it took longer to get from Stansted home as on the mainland the trains were their usual chaos, and in some ways going to Belfast is a little like visiting Nottingham on a Saturday night, but in terms of history, potential, threat, challenge it is a fascinating place to visit and one I hope to return to soon.

In Dublin's fair city.

In Ireland they have a clever train ticket system, you can buy a ticket that is usable either an hour earlier or an hour later and thank goodness I took the earlier option as arriving at Hueston train station - I discovered Dublin was neither as fair or as small as I thought it would be and to confuse me further the map in the station did not even show the station, but luckily the tiny map suggesting the lie of the land and approximate direction for the hostel showed that once over the Liffey go right and then up and I would be vaguely in the right area.

 I was amazed how busy the town was as I traipsed along looking at immense unfamiliar buildings, but still in theory in the right direction and luckily I stopped by a bench in a park growing out of a tree which I had not even noticed. But a passing man said, people are always stopping to take pictures of that, to which I replied I was actually trying to work out from my map where the youth hostel was and luckily at last I had found someone who could point me in the right direction.  I failed to take the picture of the bench, but did finally find a rather large building and lots of screaming youngsters hanging around - but luckily also spotted another woman of my age too, who turned out to be in my dorm.  So night one in Dublin was fine and warm so I carried on walking to head towards a bustling OConnell street which was also as bush as Las Ramblas.  The place was almost unrecognisable from when I visited with Nathan.  I wanted to revisit the Post Office and the bullet holes but the police officer and slightly strained atmosphere encouraged me to keep going.  It seems the post office is now where the evening soup kitchen operates and things were getting rather tense.  So I headed along by the Liffey to check where the bus to Belfast would leave from.  I then continued down the river past the monument to victims of the famine which is very close to a new museum dedicated to the migrations where loads of people were out partying.  The many faces of Dublin and then a quiet walk back up elegant Georgian streets to the hostel where to my relief all was quiet.     

Thinking I knew Dublin, prior to flying out I decided to explore the Dublin coast and booked a trip to Malahide castle and Howth harbour.   So all I had to do was have a late breakfast and then return down O'Connell street and pick my bus.   It felt like a proper holiday, bus, driver, dialogue, and we were off. There were only about 15 of us which was good as I am not sure that a lot of people can fit into this small ancient castle.  It was very different to an English castle.   Interestingly Malahide Castle was occupied by one family, the Talbots,  for over 900 years so the few bits seen are either very old or fairly new.    Unfortunately we did not have time to look around the gardens, but we could see things being set up for the concerts that are held there during the summer.   From Malahide it was a short drive along the coast to Howth.  For me, this trip was really an introduction to what is out there, rather than doing my usual thing of searching out public transport, and slogging around to get to places, but because Dublin is close to the sea, all these places are easily accessible for a return trip.   Lots of people are connected with this area, including Marconi and Erskine Childers, so that was exciting, but it was also just nice to potter around, look at the fisher folk, (some Arabic) bring in the haul, and have a nice panini - no traditional Irish food even encountered on this trip. 

From small ships to tall ships, as back in Dublin several ships had sailed up the river.  Unexpectedly Monty Don - who I guess was over for Bloom - was seen in the area, the woman hugging him farewell turned excitedly to me and said, " I was asking him about slugs" so now we know. 

Just as wonderful was the Dublin City Art Gallery, which features Francis Bacon's studio.

Another unexpected sight the following day was Bewley's.  For sentimental reasons I decided to potter down Grafton Street to St Stephen's Square, not expecting to see the famous cafe Bewley's as I had heard on the news that it had closed down. But there is was,  Nathan and I ate Irish stew here when last in Dublin - this time I had a fantastic carrot and coriander soup for an outrageous price and found out from other diners that I was sitting in the re-opened and recreated Bewley's.   From there it is just a skip to the green to sit read and just relax before taking the new tram system back over the river and the bus to Belfast.   Northern Ireland next stop. 

From South to North - sun all the way Cork.

For a long time Ireland is a place I have known about through my studies, my love of the music, the occasional bombing in London and in John's case, my love of the late Mr Green, but the actual country/countries I did not really fancy visiting on my own till recently then I kept meeting lovely Irish people, a nice friend returned to Belfast and Brexit made the people of Northern Ireland go from being an unappealing stereotype to being of interest.  Who were the people who voted to stay but want to be a part of a people who voted to go.    It seemed like time to find out, and given that Ryanair is Irish is both very simple and very cheap.  I decided to go from the south, Cork to the north, Belfast, via a return visit to Dublin and given that the sun shone throughout the visit,  it turned out to be a brilliant thing to do.

6 days is clearly not enough time to get to know a place, especially one as complex as Ireland, but lots of interesting thoughts floated up.

The first night I only had time to walk a short way into town. On the corner of the street where my hostel was there were the groups of men hanging around who looked like they were migrants just starting out in life in Ireland, and who were making friends with each other.    In the centre of town despite the closed but prosperous looking central street a soup kitchen for locals was just dispersing.  The town looked unremarkable but potentially promising.


Cork has a  lovely river. The first morning there there were loads of office workers spilling out of the modern blocks along the banks of the Lee (certain familiarity there given that is one spelling of my local river) and all having morning coffee in the sun. It took me back to days working at the GLC that sense of camaraderie, everyone was very jolly, looking out for each other, smartly dressed, it felt a very positive start to the day.     Many of the workers in the cafes were European sounding, but there were also people of colour working in the shops too, including a lovely lad with a thick Irish accent who asked if I wanted regular Barry tea to have with my Chai Masala brownie.     At the University students sat around in the sun as they do everywhere and just looked interesting whilst the lads jumping in the river looked like a scene out of something that FrankMcCourt  would have written. ]

  On the Second evening I felt comfortable enough in Cork to step into a local hostelry and listen to some live music, whilst on the last day I even went to the theatre on my own there.  It just felt a very nice comfortable place. 

All around were posters, yes/no (change the abortion rules) and one or two people were still sporting badges showing their support for the Yes vote.Many of the cafes were really nice looking and I had a lovely lunch ensconced in the English market.  The Elizabeth fort was of interest to someone who has taught about the Tudors while the presence of  Countess Markievicz  who was housed  for some time at the County Gaol, which  made it an appealing venue for my last morning.  And the radio museum tiny though it is made me realise how important Ireland has been in the history of a medium still close to my heart.

 I would be happy to return and get to explore the countryside around about, but this time round it was time for a very comfortable train journey up to Dublin.